


These Walls

by TheladyB



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Old Friends, Prequel, Winterfell, benjen stark - Freeform, harrenhall, lyanna, the wall - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-01-26 09:31:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1683476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheladyB/pseuds/TheladyB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Prequel to A Game Of Thrones: The Starks all return to Winterfell for the last time before Brandon is to be wed to Catelyn Tully. The Mad King reigns, but on the winds of Westeros, there are whispers of war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. LYANNA

**Author's Note:**

> This starts from before the Tourney at Harrenhall and will probably continue until Robert's coronation.

 

LYANNA

Northern ground had always been hard. Hard as its men, her father would tell her. A late spring snow had crusted the ground with ice. It crunched satisfyingly whenever Knight’s hooves landed on the ground, breaking the crystals into pieces. She had not meant to take out her brother’s horse that morning. She had wanted to do as mother wished for once and take her own. But Miri was a doddery old mare who could hardly canter, and Lyanna needed to feel the wind in her hair. It had been weeks.

Her father had been off in King’s Landing with her brother and she had barely had time to breathe. Lady Lida Stark had kept her only daughter very busy indeed and there had been no Rickard Stark to temper her. Lyanna had embroidered many a pincushion in the past six weeks and she had had enough. Her mother was distracted by the feast that was happening tonight and had no time for Lyanna. Except to insist she ride Miri sidesaddle. In a riding dress.

She rode in a dress, at least.

The old blue gown was large in the belly and short in the ankle. It had been her mother’s when she had been heavy with Benjen. It tied up well, and she had knotted it at her hips. Brandon’s oldest pair of breeches served to cover her smallclothes. Her hair flew black as night behind her, unpinned.

The wind whipped through her hair and made the dark strands dance on the wind like smoke from a flame. She felt light.

The sky, however, was darkening by the second. She must be back at Winterfell before the night came. Her mother would turn out a search party if she wasn’t back by nightfall, and she could not bear the humiliation. She kicked Knight to go quicker. He obliged.

The stables were abuzz with excitement. Mostly because they were trying to make room for Lord Stark’s horses when he returned. Mace the stableboy tugged at her saddle. He was a proper sort of boy, small and solemn , and would not dared have touch her anywhere else. She ruffled his hair to bother him.

“Milady, your mother is wondering where you are.” She slid off Knight’s back quick.

“Indeed she is.” Lady Lida Stark was in full effect. Her green eyes betrayed her Tarbuck roots, and her gold mane hinted at her grandmother’s Lannister heritage. She was a patchwork of people all over Westeros, taking her traits from a fine family tree. Lyanna, however was pure north, a wolf Maid, if what the servants whispered was so.  
Her mother had not been made for the North. She was accustomed to a finer life than the one that she led at Winterfell. Others often wondered whether her mother would have been better off at the Reach or the Vale. But she was given to Rickard Stark, and ever since had been trying to bring the rest of Westeros to their door. With little success.

“Lyanna. The gown. The hair. You look like a little heathen. Half beast! You shame your father’s name looking so.” She took her daughter’s ear as if she was a child. Which did more to shame the family name than Lyanna’s choice of gown.

The pins she was supposed to be wearing in her hair jingled to the ground. Silver with small opal flowers. They caught the light and looked like frozen fire. Lyanna preferred to look at them over wearing them.

Her mother saw and shouted and threatened to send her South. Lyanna rolled her eyes to the sky and beseeched the gods to shut her mother’s mouth.

The trumpets sounded.

Her brothers were home.


	2. BRANDON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here is the next chapter. Brandon's perspective. I'll probably be moving them all down to Harrenhall after the next chapter, to get started on the tourney.

BRANDON

It had been so long. He hadn’t seen the rounded towers of Winterfell in weeks. Forty weeks. They had left at the first sign of thaw and hadn’t been back since. Maesters said that this was a false spring, the winter had not been long enough. But Brandon was not suspicious. Suspicion usually bred distrust and discomfort. It was punishing a man for something he hadn’t yet done. A foolish endeavor.

  
He chose to trust.

  
Trust was sometimes all that kept the country afloat, all a man had. His father had trusted Jon Arryn to take Ned, to care for him as if he was his own. They trusted the king to rule the country fairly. He trusted his father’s men would love him as they did him when his father died.

Trust was greater currency than gold, now that he thought on it.

It was trust that brought his brother back to Winterfell for these six weeks. They had ridden for the Vale after their trip to King’s Landing. They had set off to the Capitol because the King required that the swear fealty to him in person. Apparently the great King did not trust his subjects to simply swear it in the comfort of their castles. His father had said that it was strange that he wanted to gather so many of those he did not trust in one place. But Brandon did not care to question a king.

The king himself had been tall and well built, with thickly corded muscles and a firm set mouth covered in silver whiskers. Everything about the man was ostentatious, he looked as though he belonged in the freakdom of the Free Cities. Though of course he did not dye his hair or eyes. The Targareyans had always been odd to look upon. He was strong looking, everything muscled.

Except for his eyes. His eyes twitched from left to right and it put Brandon ill at ease. When he mentioned it to his father, Rickard Stark only said that “The man is in a snake pit.” And said no more. He hoped that his trips to King’s Landing would be infrequent.

  
The Vale was a friendlier place, though harder to reach. Jon Arryn looked upon Ned as a son, the Starks as extended family. He was a man well loved by his bannermen, and that sat well with Brandon.

  
Ned had grown well, tall and solemn. He was surefooted and quiet, quicker than he had been when he was a boy. But he was no match for loud, laughing Robert, large as a bull and easy in every way. Easy to please, to laugh, to learn, to love. He was also an easy swordsman, but his real talent was with a large hammer that Jon Arryn’s blacksmith had fashioned him.

  
He had forgotten about Ned for a moment. But that was the way of it. Though men loved their Ned, it was Robert who took the attention and held it. Ned was almost an afterthought.

  
But he was a good lad, and Jon was loathe to part with him. Ned tempered Robert’s excess and arrogance and Jon joked that he would have his hands full with wild Robert in the coming weeks.

  
He had no doubt of that.

  
Robert did have the good grace of asking after Lyanna, though. His betrothed, though Brandon hardly thought about it. To see his wild wolf blooded sister married was something that he could hardly think on. She had been the one that would follow his foolish plans, and come up with some of their own, getting baby Benjen to help. Ned would be the voice of reason, and he got so tiresome that they stopped telling him what they were doing.

To think of Lyanna betrothed. Married. The girl could hardly keep herself clean, much less manage a household. They had ridden up and seen her being taken by the ear by their mother. She had been in his old breeches and his mother’s gown from before she had Benjen. Her face had been streaked with dirt and she had smelled to the high heavens. She was nearly sixteen, but she wasn’t more than a child. And she was to be married off this next year.

He was to be married. This year. Catelyn Tully. Cat. They had exchanged letters, and she had a fair hand. A fair face too, if he heard right. The auburn hair and blue eyes of the Tullys. Slashing high cheekbones and skin white as snow. He had meant to meet her, at Riverrun, but he had always made excuses. He was to marry her after the Tourney at Harrenhall. He meant to tarry for a few more months. He did not care to look his future in the face, no matter how fair. Not yet.

The bells rang, and they entered the feast. His mother had outdone herself. There were tureens of stew with thick chunks of spiced pumpkin and potatoes, racks of lamb with sprigs of mint, butter rolls with honey and preserves, tomatoes cooked with pease and parsley, honeyed chicken, onion tarts, boiled parsnips with bacon and cream sauce, spiced nuts and berries, pear pies, sugar dipped strawberries, lemon cakes, and blocks of honeycomb drizzled with cream.

  
And wine. Dornish wine. That was the only good thing about their trip to King’s Landing, the barrels of wine that they had returned with. They were well set for the next winter.

  
They had brought a singer with them, because his mother was fond of singers. Lyanna as well. It was near the only thing that they could agree on. They got him to sing “The Lady Maid.”

Fell in love with the Lady Maid  
Doo da day doo da day  
Fell in love with the Lady Maid  
Doo da day doo da day  
Fell in love with a Lady Maid  
But she said nay she said nay  
Fell in love with a Lady Maid but  
She would not have me -ay  
Lady Maid, Lady Maid  
That was quite a story - ay

Lyanna lifted herself out of her seat and clapped. She took Benjen by the arm and started to dance. Others joined them.

Benjen had grown quite tall, he noticed. He did not blush so much, and he stood straight. At fourteen, he was more than half a man. He was nigh as tall as Rickard Stark himself. Lyanna, too looked well. Beautiful, actually. When she was washed and her hair was braided back. She wore little jewels in the braid that flashed in the light and looked quite like frozen fire. The grey gown she wore matched her eyes, fiery and brightened. She looked like a girl from a song.

Fell in love with the Lady Maid  
But she said nay, she said nay  
Though I asked her everyday  
She always turned me away.  
Then one day I told her nay  
Told her nay Told her nay  
I said nay to the Lady Maid  
Told her I was going away  
Then she said yay, she said yay  
I said nay to the Lady Maid  
And made her not a Maid Yeah.  
Doo da day, doo da day

It gave him comfort to see that Lyanna was still wearing her riding boots, though. She was not the lady yet. She smacked her brother's arm and switched partners, taking the arm of Jory Cassal and giving her brother the arm of Old Nan, who always looked like she was about to totter over. He noticed his brother's longing looks at one of the maids that clapped on the side, and laughed. His brother was growing up after all. Lyanna kicked her legs up so high it was a miracle no one had seen her small clothes. He leaned over to his brother.

"Ned. How is the Baratheon boy?" He had liked the look of Robert, as a hunting companion, but perhaps the laughing youth was not a good husband. He had heard a bit about him.

  
Ned bit his lip. "He is a good man. Near a brother to me."

  
"You know I wasn't asking that, Ned. I heard he got a bastard on some girl. High born. And I've heard he spends his time with whores."

  
Ned shook his head. "Not whores. Willing women."

  
"The only woman he should be willing to be with is Lyanna." Brandon felt himself go very stiff. It was one thing to mess around before marriage, but when one was engaged it was only ethical to stop such follies. There was a measure of trust there and it could not be broken.

  
"He fancies himself in love with Lyanna." Ned was attempting to offer comfort, or more like, he was simply stating the truth as he understood it.

  
"A man in love does not get bastards on other girls." And with that Brandon turned back to the dancing.

 

Now I’m in love with the lady’s Maid,  
The Lady’s Maid, the Lady’s maid.  
I’m in love with the Lady’s Maid, and  
I will tell her nay.  
Doo da day, doo da day, doo da day.  
I’m in love with the Lady’s Maid and  
I will tell her nay- ay!

Everyone clapped, and even Ned looked as though he longed for the floor. Brandon clapped him on the shoulder. They should all dance.

  
They were still young.


	3. BENJEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benjen's chapter! I wanted to explore why Benjen joined the Night's Watch, mostly because there hasn't really been much on him. Also I wanted some light hearted romance. Sue me. 
> 
> Oh, and P.S.: "The Lady Maid", the song from the last chapter was a song that I wrote myself, so if you want to use it, let me know!

BENJEN

They hadn’t seen such rain in a long time. All morning it had poured, and left the ground cratered with holes dug from rainwater. Blooms were torn down from the trees by the sheer force of the winds, and they lay stuck on the ground, like the tears of the Maiden. They sunk slowly into the ground. The mud was thick and clung to every orifice of the castle. He did not dare go outside. But for every other man in Winterfell, it was the perfect weather to practice in. 

They had gathered, all able bodied men, on the practice field for a trial tourney, a mockup of the great event at Harrenhall in two weeks’ time. They were to set off riding on the morrow, and his brothers had not wished to miss a chance to practice. And for the rest of the men, it was a good chance to see a tourney, as most would be staying at Winterfell. 

He would have stayed too, if Brandon had not insisted that he was old enough. It would be his first tourney. He was tasked with squiring for his brother Brandon, who was likely going to boss him around worse than mother ever did, if only to show off to his father’s bannermen. He was always doing that. Pretending to be Lord Of Winterfell, Warden of the North. It bothered Benjen to no end, but he never said anything. Only Lyanna was allowed to check Brandon, mostly because she a girl. And she wasn’t going to stay at Winterfell, anyway. She’d be married off to Storm’s End soon. 

It smelled good down there. A feast had been lain out, one of the several feasts they’d been having the past few days to celebrate his brothers’ return. Pork pies and roast duck basted in butter, barley soup and brown bread, mushrooms and spiced squash, with strawberry pies crusted with sugar and baked apples in cinnamon and honey. With wine, of course. Many of the men were already drunk, and more threatened to follow in time. He wanted to go down and eat, but he didn’t want to talk to anyone. Also he was technically “there” already. Someone was wearing his armor. 

The women were sitting under a tent, dressed in their finest. Children were scatterd around, and some of the men that were too old to fight sat alongside. His mother was Queen of Love and Beauty, and his brothers defended her title. The crowd groaned and hissed whenever some would be champion or other fell, and screamed when their chosen man won an event. 

He should be squiring now, but he wasn’t. Someone had taken his coat and his helmet. His whole suit of armor in fact. She’d left him with a tourney sword. Lyanna. 

She’d always been crowding in. But he didn’t mind. They had played together like two pups. When they were little, people were always mistaking them for twins, and at times Lyanna would put him in her skirts and he’d learn to sew while she’d wield his sword. She was two years older, and stronger. Now that he was stronger, she had resorted to other ways to steal his sword. 

Her riding was better than his, that he’d admit. But he’d be damned before she’d be better than him at swordsmanship. He ignored the cheers of the crowd. 

The wood sword was firm in his hand. He knew the splinters, knew all of the cracked wood and the slick grooves that had been worn down. He imagined his enemy, tall and mighty. He struck. 

He dodged, he lunged. There was no one here but his enemy. No one and nothing. Only they existed. Together. It was like a dance. 

He hit flesh. He heard the scream seconds later, and he was brought out of his stupor to see six strawberry pies flying in the air. And a girl at the bottom of the stair. 

He leapt over the steps with ease. 

The girl was not moving. Oh Gods! He moved her arm and put his head on her chest. Her heart was beating. 

“My lord.” He jerked up. The girl was stirring. She sounded like a proper lady. 

“Don’t you call us milord?” He asked thickly. 

“What do you mean?” A crinkle appeared above the girl’s eyes. Oh, but she was lovely. Brown eyes, butter yellow hair, and a smile. One tooth was a bit cracked, but it added to her appeal. 

“You know. Servants us’ally call us milord. Milady. You talk proper.” She got up and dusted herself off. 

“Well, my lord, my mother taught me to talk properly. It’s served me well serving your family. Now if you’ll excuse me, my lord, I must talk to Betta about the strawberry pies.” He didn’t want her to get in trouble. Betta could be hard on people. 

“I’ll come with you. Tell her it was my fault.” 

“How could it be your fault? You’re supposed to be out squiring.” He shrugged. 

“Well, I’m a wizard.” 

“Indeed.”  
“C’mon. I’ll tell her. You won’t get in trouble if I’m the one who did it. Besides, they’ll all find out it was Lyanna anyway. She can’t get a man into armor to save her life.” The girl laughed, snorty and strange. He liked it. 

“All right.” She collected the pies, and he bent down to help. Their heads knocked together. 

“Sorry.” 

“I think you’ve banged up my head enough for one day my lord. “ She took the pies from him and went on her way. 

“Wait a second!” She turned and curtsied. 

“My lord.” 

“What’s your name?” 

“Everie.” 

“You work in the kitchens, Everie? You sound like a lady.” 

“My father was high born. My mother did a lot of business with high borns. So I sound like a lady, I guess.” 

“You’re a bastard?” She grimaced in the way that only ladies did – a slight tightening of the mouth. 

“A Snow.” And with that, she took her pies and went. 

It only took him a moment to come galloping after her.


	4. NED

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get Ned's point of view. Also, Riverrun, and the introduction of Cat and Lysa. And Littlefinger.

NED

They had been three weeks riding, and Ned was bone tired. His horse had worked up a lather underneath his saddle and was in want of water. He himself was the same, sweating like a pig underneath his mail. He had forgotten how hot it was down south. He pulled the corner of his tunic aside, feeling it unstick from his sweaty neck. His hand snapped at the buzzing bugs that would flit near his neck. 

Brandon barely seemed to notice. He rode Storm, his big black charger, hard and fast, chasing down any animals they met with. And any man as well. Ned had never understood his brother’s endless energy. The odd impulsiveness that plagued him had infected their sister as well. For a man, it was accepted, even expected that a high lord should be a little eccentric. But a woman was under her family’s command, and her control reflected on him.   
Not that he minded that Lyanna was wild. His father had a gentle hand with her, and her mother had been tolerant as she could of Lyanna’s wild ways. But he feared what would happen when she married. Lyanna was a delicate creature, strong as she might seem. Not delicate- well he knew women could be strong. He had seen so many be strong. But Lyanna was fragile. She had been sheltered. As Brandon had as well. And Benjen to an extent. None of them knew what it was like to live elsewhere. 

Over the course of his young life, Eddard Stark had seen much of what there was to see in Westeros, the best traveled Stark save his father. He had lived at the Vale since he was eight, visited Storm’s End and the Reach, seen Highgarden in all its glory, and even seen the stormy shores of Pyke. All at the arm of Jon Arryn, Lord of the Vale, of whom he was ward. 

He had liked the Vale. He loved Robert like a brother, Jon Arryn like a second father. The man had practically raised him up from a child. He had spent more time in the Vale than in the North. He felt an affection for the Vale, and the people that lived there. They were good, quiet, honorable people, who were passionate when rankled. The years there had been good to him.

But he was of the North. There had been an ache in his head since he was eight years old. It was the height. He had not been bred to live so high above ground. Ice was in his bones. 

Robert had loved the Vale even more than he had, as he had been bred to live near the sky. He would inherit Storm’s End, and it was a perfect place for his tempestuous friend. Steffon Baratheon had sent his son to Jon in the hopes of calming the storms that swirled in his eldest son’s head, but it could not be helped. Robert had his way with women and warring, and he struck fights and stuck himself in women as often as he could. But he was so genial, so eager that nobody could fault him for it. 

Except Brandon. 

He watched his brother trot ahead, staring intensely into the woods as if he was a wolf stalking prey. Brandon had expressed his displeasure in Robert’s activities weeks ago, and he had been frosty to Ned ever since. Does he blame me? He wondered. It wasn’t as if he could control his friend. No man could. Robert Baratheon was a force of nature. He did as he liked and looked not at the damage he left in his wake. 

That was for everyone else to look to. His friend was a father twice over, which was the only thing that Ned hated about him. His sister was buoyant, and beautiful and wonderfully willful. Robert fancied himself in love with her, but love did not keep him loyal when there was a willing woman. And there was always a willing woman. 

They rode for Riverrrun, the home of Brandon’s betrothed. Catelyn Tully, a woman of storied beauty. She was the third most beautiful woman in Westeros, so Robert said. Behind Lyanna and Cersei Lannister, a woman as hard as the gold in her father’s treasury. Although Ashara Dayne, he would often add, was on the rise. 

Ned wished that he would not speak so of Ashara Dayne. It would dishonor her. 

He had spied Lady Ashara in the Reach when he had accompanied Jon Arryn to a tourney held in his honor last year. She had the most bewitching eyes he had ever seen. She looked like a heroine from a song. 

He was being foolish. 

He shook his head and rode on as they made their way to Riverrun. 

It was a large, low castle, with fish carved on near every surface he could see. It was a nice place, with a fine sunny godswood and a large crystal sept. It seemed these river lords followed the faith of the seven as opposed to worshipping the old gods. But then again, the Faith of the seven seemed to be spreading. 

Their horses were taken from them at the entrance, and taken care of. They were told that they could meet the Lord of the Manor in a moment. 

Lord Hoster Tully was a large man, with a long lined face. Some of the lines cut down into his cheeks when he made expression, which was not often. His son Edmure was a boy younger than Benjen, and his daughters were visions. Well, Cat was a vision. She was the only one that they had seen. But what a sight! Beautiful, long auburn hair, full lips, azure blue eyes and a fine boned face. She was nothing to Ashara Dayne, but Ned knew beauty. 

She curtsied to everyone, reserving a moment for Brandon, her betrothed. Brandon looked pleased. She had a low, sweet voice that he liked the sound of. The other daughter, Hoster informed them, was with their ward, Petyr Baelish. Catelyn volunteered to go and fetch them. Hoster agreed, and Catelyn set off, after offering the men the customary bread and salt, along with vats of wine and platters of baked salmon, wheels of cheese, fresh plums and round grapes, along with the promise of a bath in the river. 

Ned took a few handfuls of grapes and a chunk of bread and ran to the river. It was so cool and crisp, and he was out before the others had gotten in. He decided to wander the godswood, to see what it was like. 

There were flowers growing, and a soft chirp of insects that seemed like a song. Birds chirped and it was dappled with sunlight. There were also thick bushes that were good for hiding behind, as he quickly found when he heard voices coming his way. 

It was the Lady Catelyn and what could only be her sister. Lady Lysa Tully was lovely, with the same long auburn hair. She was slim as a whippet with crooked teeth and wide set blue eyes. Her hair was braided with flowers woven into it, and she had delicate white hands. Her voice was high and musical, but it had a strange whine to it. It was a might unsettling. 

The boy that they were with was even younger, small and dark with carefully combed black hair. He had keen green eyes that shifted from sister to sister, settling most often on Lady Catelyn. 

“I don’t understand why you were hiding in the godswood with Littlefinger when half the North has come to see us. My kinsmen. My future kinsmen, I mean. My betrothed. I wanted you to see him when I did, Lysa.” Lysa rolled her eyes.

“We have heard much of the great Brandon Stark, Cat.” 

“Indeed you have not. Only of his penmenship, which is very fine. The man himself -“ She sighed dreamily. “There are no words. He is tall and very handsome and kind, and – oh Lysa. He is a wonder. Oh listen to me. Anyhow, I wanted you to see him, but you weren’t there which was bad enough. But then to find you here playing stupid kissing games with Littlefinger! Lysa, you will shame the family. What will Father say?” The little boy, who had been looking increasingly disgruntled, tried to take Lady Catelyn’s arm. He was rebuffed, but began to speak anyway. He had a voice that was shifty as a snake through sand. Ned didn’t like it. 

“I apologize if I was keeping the Lady Lysa, Cat. I meant no disrespect, to you or our northern, uh – friends. Your fiancé must forgive me.”

“Oh Littlefinger he didn’t even notice you were gone. You’re just our ward.” Cat shrugged him off. 

“Lysa, go inside. Father will want to speak with you.” And with that, Lysa marched inside, grumbling all the way. 

This Littlefinger rounded on Lady Catelyn. 

“My lady, it was not her fault. She was comforting me. I did not want to see you with your betrothed. It was too much for me.” He smiled at her, but it made Ned uncomfortable. 

“Oh, Littlefinger. You still think you’re in love with me? When will this silly game be at an end?” Lady Catelyn crossed her arms and rolled her eyes at him. 

“Can he truly love you? He doesn’t even know you, whereas I-“ He tried to take her hands again. 

“Littlefinger, stop.” He tried to take her in his arms again. 

“I will fight him. I will fight him for the honor of your hand, my lady.” He looked so fierce in that moment that Ned began to think that he could take on his brawny brother. 

“Oh Littlefinger, hush. You talk nonsense.” Lady Catelyn had already turned away from him.

“My lady?” A voice called in the wood that could only be his brother. He reached them easily. He took Catelyn’s hand. That really sent the boy over the edge. 

“I will fight you, my lord.” Brandon, who was already leading Lady Catelyn away, looked back at him. 

“Pay no attention to him, Brandon.” 

“A duel. For my ladyship’s hand. At dusk. In the godswood. I challenge you by the old gods and the new.” 

Brandon laughed easily. “You do not know what you say, boy.” 

The boy reddened with anger. “I know full well. And if you do not show up, I shall call you craven.” That got Brandon’s attention. He nodded. 

“For my lady’s hand, young ser. May the best man win her.” Brandon laughed his way out of the godswood, Lady Catelyn on his arm. 

The boy kicked the tree hard. 

 

They had a great feast that night, with dancing. A fine spread had been laid out, with haunches of elk roasted with mushrooms and onions, grilled salmon and cod, shrimp pies, braised apples with cheese, mussels, roast potatoes and pease, fried crabs and boiled lobsters, wheels of white cheese, boiled turnips and beans, thick brown oat bread with honey and butter, blackberries with cream, walnut pies, cream cakes and little lemon cakes. Wine and cider were plentiful, as were the Frey girls. 

It seemed as if Lord Frey had brought every one of his daughters, and only a few were pretty. Brandon led the dancing with Lady Catelyn, and he spied the Littlefinger glowering at him, with Lady Lysa trying to get him to dance. He did not budge from his seat, and so Lady Lysa was forced to dance with Benjen, and all of the other sons of the Riverlords, who watched her with hungry eyes. Ned knew Lady Lysa was a prize. She came with a hefty dowry, and she was near as pretty as her sister. And the status that came with aligning ones sons with the daughter of a Tully was priceless. They’d have taken her if she’d come with warts and a leer. 

But she only had eyes for Littlefinger. Ned watched them nervously, Catelyn watching Brandon, Littlefinger watching Catelyn, Lysa watching Littlefinger, some young Riverlord watching Lysa, and Brandon staring straight ahead. Everyone was oblivious to other’s attentions. If they’d only turn their heads. 

Of course that would do nothing, but nonetheless. 

 

Dusk came, and the challengers arrived. Ned had not been invited, so he had hidden. It was folly, he knew, and a bit craven besides, but he wanted to see what would happen. He hoped that Brandon would not kill young Petyr Baelish. 

It was swift. The Baelish boy was outmatched, and was slaughtered in battle, or almost. Just as Brandon went in for the kill, Lysa let out an involuntary shriek and Catelyn followed with a scream. 

“Brandon, no. Please. Whatever love you bear me, whatever love you will bear me. Or our sons. I call upon that now and ask that you, for my sake, do not kill this boy. Petyr is like a little brother to us, and I must ask that you don’t kill him. It will not injure your honor in any way. It was folly for us to allow this to go on in the first place. Please, ser. For me.” Brandon bowed to her. Then he turned and gave Littlefinger a sharp slash to the face. 

“So he remembers not to fight on fields in which he is unworthy.” The boy was left with a long red streak on his face. He screamed, but he was drowned out by Lysa, who went to strike Brandon. Catelyn held her back and directed her attention towards the Baelish boy, who was still holding his face. They tended to him and helped him up. 

“Thank you.” He panted. 

Lady Catelyn’s face turned dark. 

“Petyr, I shall speak to my father about this. It is folly and shall not happen. Ever again. Let it be known once and for all that Brandon Stark is my betrothed. I am to be a northern bride. And nothing that you can do or say will put a stop to it. Remember your place.” 

And with that, she swept off into the night, leaving Lysa to help him inside.


	5. ROBERT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter about Robert and the melee. Enjoy!

ROBERT

The melee had been easily won.   
Most of the men hadn’t been warriors, and no one could stand against his hammer. He’d clubbed them all down. He wanted a real challenge. 

No true warriors had engaged with him yet. 

Arthur Dayne and Barristen Selmy hadn’t entered the melee, and the Prince was on his way. It had not been so well attended a melee, and the victory felt ill won. Robert and Jon had made their way to Harrenhall straight away and had been some of the first to arrive. Since the king had wanted the tourney to start on the 25th, it had, though hardly any men had yet arrived. No more than three hundred. Twice that were expected. 

So the melee had been ill met. 

Not that Robert cared. A victory was still a victory, and he would treat this as a warm up for the victories yet to be won. 

He could scarce wait for his friends to get here. Jon Arryn was here, true, but he was more of a father. His brothers had also attended, and Robert had been forced to reunite with sour mouthed Stannis and Renly, who acted just like a bloody woman when he was hit. And Robert liked to hit. 

He had been made to greet them because it was the first time that he was doing so as Lord of Storm’s End. He would return to Storm’s End next year, after he married Lyanna Stark. 

Lyanna. She was lovely, beautiful as the dawn, and what a woman! So willful and wild. Robert could not wait to marry her, and tame her. She would be his wild wolf maid, and his lady wife to boot. And he’d be able to visit the North anytime he chose to, and see his friend Ned Stark. Or maybe, since he was a second son, Ned could move down to Storm’s End. Pity Robert had no sisters he could marry. Though if he put Renly in some silks he could certainly pass as a maid. 

Ned was his dearest friend, and Robert loved the quiet, introspective man. Ned and his brothers would make real competition, and he could hardly wait to see the lovely Lyanna once again. Perhaps he could make her his Queen of Love and Beauty, and perhaps afterwards she’d let him see her in all of her beauty. Not bloody likely, but a man could dream, couldn’t he? 

All these thoughts of fucking made him want to fuck. There was nothing in the world like a willing woman. Unless it was the sound of a sword in a man’s back. That was near as sweet as a woman’s moans. Seeing as he couldn’t put a sword in a man’s back, he set to find a girl to fuck. 

He thought about cleaning himself up, but women tended to like the grime. He made his way past most of the tents, to one in particular. He tapped on his shield with his sword, and a woman appeared at the front. A girl, really. No more than fourteen, but he had seen her shy smiles. A Hightower, she was. Long blonde hair and pouty pink lips. She licked her lips just then. He bowed to her. 

“My lady.” She smiled at him just then, even bolder. 

“My father’s not due back for an hour. My brother’s bleeding.” She looked at him in awe. 

“An hour we have then.” He winked at her roguishly, and pushed his way inside her tent. 

An excellent distraction, and another easy conquest. 

He couldn't wait for a challenge.


	6. HOWLAND

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's Howland's Chapter! Hope you all enjoy!

HOWLAND

Howland Reed had never come to a tourney before. He wasn’t certain what to make of it.

Larger, certainly, than anything else that he had ever experienced. But he was a small man, all crannogmen were so. It had something to do with the food that they ate. That was if the tales were true, of course. He hardly remembered, but it was something akin to a man would take the shape of what he liked to eat. 

Most of the men here looked like they had eaten giants. 

This was likely because the lot of them were backed by banners and laced into armor of metal and plate that flashed against the sun. The large lords were like suns themselves, their bannermen shimmering like small stars. They were surrounded by ladies in fine silks and strolling singers. It was like something out of a song. 

Howland was in his greens and browns. He felt even smaller then. He made his way alone, with the Banner of the House Reed. It was pitiful. He had come with a party of four, his father’s steward and two others of his house, a squire and old Mayer, who knew how to keep horses. They did not keep horses at Greywater Watch. There was little point. 

But his father had insisted on old Mayer, and had sent him off with a small pile of golden dragons, hoping that he would at least make a wager on the tourney. His father longed for representation for his house, and desired that his son would attempt to represent the Reeds.   
Crannogmen were not built for glory, however. They were built for the back marshes. They were built to survive in the shadows, not sing in the sun. Not that he minded the sun. There were just too many men trying to take a crack at it. 

Take some of the fairer maidens, for example. There were names that were on everybody’s lips. Cersei Lannister. Catelyn Tully. Ashara Dayne. Lyanna Stark. Too many men were vying for their hands in marriage. It would not do for a crannogman like himself. Those women would deny him. 

No, Howland took comfort in knowing that though they were beauties, they were common. Give him a woman that loved the fogs and the shadows. Then he would have his bride. 

That was also another reason why his father had sent him to tourney. Howland needed to wed soon. All of the eligible women would be gathered in one place. If Howland won some fair maiden’s heart, it would be much less fuss and expense than it normally would take. Sending ravens and riders. Visits and such. Howland had no time for such things, his father even less.

“If you find someone fair, Howland, bring her back a bride.” His father had told him when they broke bread on the morning that he had left. It wasn’t so much a suggestion as a request. Close to a command as his father would ever come. 

Howland didn’t mind. But what woman would want to align herself with a man that would not fight in the tourneys? That had three men with him because his father could not be bothered to spare more? All they had brought was a brown tent and a few small banners. 

The Reed cloak, as well, for whomever it was Howland decided to bring back. He began to worry that he would. After all, crannogmen were nothing to the gods that rose up around him. Robert Baratheon and Arthur Dayne and that like, who looked like heroes from fantasy. And of course, crannogmen had a rather nasty reputation among those who didn’t live their lives. They got made fun of for -

“Frog eater!” The voice came from a group of squires.   
The leader made his way to the front, sniggering. He pointed at Howland. 

“Go back to your swamp and eat your frogs, Frog-eater.” Howland could hardly understand those who made fun of frogs. They made the best meat stews. Besides, it wasn’t like they didn’t make fun of the people in other areas of Westeros. Eating quails’ eggs and the like. Disgusting. 

He tried to take it in stride, ignoring the boy. A Frey, judging by the twin towers on his chest. 

The Frey was joined by two others. His partners in crime, looked like. The rest of them hovered around, laughing as the Frey and his cronies circled him. There was little way out. All of the gods in their fine armor had gone to fight. Howland was alone. Outnumbered. Certainly outweighed. 

Perhaps he could outrun them. He had little but his net, which he could use to take down probably two of them. But they were surrounding him. He slipped his net out and started spinning it. Maybe he could get away. 

But before he loosed it, there came a great shout and a flash of movement. The Frey boy fell, beaten back but what had looked like a large animal for a moment. But then the screams became discernable. 

“Do. Not. Touch. My. Father’s. Man.” The Frey was beaten and bloody from the blunt edge of the tourney sword, his friends bruised.

The others had scattered like rats, he noticed. He raised his net but there was no need. The boys scrambled away, bowing at the creature. 

She lowered her hood. It was the she wolf. Lyanna Stark. 

She smiled at him and extended her hand. 

“Aren’t very courageous are they?” 

He was half in love already.


	7. LYANNA: HARRENHALL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna Stark heads to Harrenhall and realizes that she wants to be more than just a stand in for her mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a chapter on Lyanna, and I'm hoping to finish Harrenhall over the next few chapter and launch into the war. Let me know what you think!

LYANNA

She had heard it miles and miles away. Her mother always said that she had the ears of a dog and the will of a mule. She could hear the snow fall miles south but was deaf to her mother’s cries. 

Or so Lady Lida claimed. 

It was true, in a sense. Lyanna only thought about the things that were of importance to her. It was the same with everyone else, she believed. A farmer thought of his crops. A king thought of his subject. Lyanna thought of swords.  
Which was why she was able to hear them, clashing against each other, ringing as they did so. She kicked her horse faster, faster. She could smell the boiled leather, the mail that got hot and near cooked a man from the inside out, as her brother Benjen would complain. Benjen complained an awful lot. 

He had no idea what he had. It made her shake with anger at her little brother, though logically, she knew that he had no fault in it. He had not asked to be born a son. He was even kind to her, kind as the rest of her brothers had been, training her, allowing her to steal their equipment, not telling their lady mother where she had gone. But being allowed to steal mail, and being given it were two different things. It angered her that she had to be allowed permission to do anything. She even had to ask permission to embroider cushions. 

It was all so boring, the life that she lived. This was the only thing that was exciting, and the only reason that she was even here was to play a stupid part. Queen of Love and Beauty. Well, not that she minded that part. She’d always loved songs. She had a soft spot for them that her brothers loved to make fun of, but she did. It was one of the few ways that she was “like the other girls.” Not that she minded the other girls. She used to, when she was younger. But now – well, there was no sense in making someone feel stupid for liking songs and dancing. It was all they knew. Besides, most of them didn’t make her feel stupid for loving riding.  
They were getting closer. Ach, she could hardly wait. There would be so much to see and do. She was excited. She could see the crest of the hill, and hear the melee. 

It seemed that all the seven kingdoms had come out. There was a small ring of beggars that kept a distance away from some of the larger tents, knowing that if they were caught it would mean the loss of hands or heads, depending on the lord in question. Lyanna took bread out of her bag, and the silver she had been given for favors, and handed it to the men that looked hungriest. Of course, they all did. They bowed and curtsied to her bow-legged, and she felt a little ashamed. The silver was nothing to her, really. It was given to buy silks and fancies from the vendors that inevitably showed up at the tourneys. She could have more if she wanted it. And the bread? Well, there would be a feast near every night. Every day. These people were grateful for small scraps of travel bread. It made her sick. 

She smiled at them the best that she could, nodded in the regal way that her lady mother would have, and lifted herself back on her horse. 

There were vendors indeed, from all corners of the Seven Kingdoms, and beyond. Scents of spices and colorful silks jumped out at her as she roamed the small market that had been set up. Benjen was escorting her, and had given her a wooden tourney sword that she had been let to carry. It made her feel safe, sort of. 

She ran some silk through her fingers, waving off the hungry looking tradesman. She had no silver for him to try to cheat her out of. 

“D’you ever think that it isn’t fair?” 

“What?” Benjen shook himself out of his reverie and looked at her. 

“That we have so much and others have so little. I mean, take Winterfell. There is so much room there. We could serve hundreds in the halls. Give them a place to sleep for the winters.” Benjen looked a little taken aback at this. 

“Lyanna, that isn’t how it’s done. Everyone has their own place. It isn’t fair, it isn’t right, but we have our own places. And we mustn’t cross these lines, the boundaries.” He was saying this more to himself than her. 

“Well I think that a lord has a duty to every one of his subjects. And kings, as well. Even more so. They are the caretakers of the realm. “ Benjen shrugged and said no more. 

She heard the screams before anyone else. She must have sensed them, like a wolf. It was odd how sometimes she knew that things were to pass before they did, but she had a strange sense sometimes. And she heard the screams. There was a desperation in them, and so she ran to them. 

The boys were easily fought off, especially since she was angry. She always went a bit mad when she was angry. She went a bit mad a lot. 

Mostly because she felt things so deeply. Passionately. Like a lady from the songs. 

The young man was Howland Reed, one of her father’s subjects. He bowed low to her, thanked her, but she shook him off. 

He had not much beyond a few men and a tent. They had half a hundred men, with more to arrive. She invited this Reed to come and stay, and his men as well. If her brothers would not protect her father’s men, then she would.


End file.
